


Nothing Left To Say But Goodbye

by someoftheworst



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Character Death, Depression, M/M, Self-Harm, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-07 00:38:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4242879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someoftheworst/pseuds/someoftheworst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s just the soft weight of his body leaning back against me as I cradle him in my arms, his head resting gently against my chest, hair wet from where I brushed it away from the constellations of freckles adorning his sharp face. I breathe in a long drag, letting the ash coat my lungs before I let it go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Left To Say But Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first fanfic if you will, but from years ago that i'm posting just now. This goes to say that this is also my first work here on ao3, so if i haven't tagged anything correctly please let me know so i can fix it.  
> I will say there are warnings though, for self harm, suicide, depression and death. If those trigger you or are not your cup of tea, please don't read this.  
> If you continue however, hopefully you like it, kudos and comments welcome, especially concrit. this is from over a year ago so i KNOW there are some bad stuff in there, but still.  
> Title and fic inspired from Audioslave's Nothing Left to Say But Goodbye  
> Enjoy :)

     I flick the switch of my lighter and bring the orange flame closer to light another cigarette from my crumpled pack as I snuff out the last one, adding it to the slowly growing pile on the tiled ground on my left. I sit here in the narrow ceramic tub, waiting. It’s been a while, a long while of just waiting and dawdling for the last couple minutes. Or maybe it’s already been hours or days but I just haven’t noticed yet. Well, not that I give a damn about it anymore. My hands don’t tremble while I light the stick between my chapped lips; they’re not trembling at all. It’s not like the heavy weight is still there. The weight of his limp body, his arm slung around haphazardly around my neck, his head bumping up against my shoulder as I carried him... No, none of that affects me the way it did before. How it made me lose all feeling in my body, gagging for breath as if I was being choked. Now his body is warming back up from the hot water filling around us. It’s just the soft weight of his body leaning back against me as I cradle him in my arms, his head resting gently against my chest, hair wet from where I brushed it away from the constellations of freckles adorning his sharp face. I breathe in a long drag, letting the ash coat my lungs before I let it go.

     I can’t even think where to begin; it left my mind reeling in blankness as to what exactly happened, is happening, will happen. It was just one those things I could never wrap my head around, that I had no clue how to even handle.

     I hadn’t seen him in a while, a few days more than usual. I was worried he’d have his freckled ass glued to his chair by now with all the studying he was doing. That was the thing with pre-med. You study and study and study and just when you think you can take a breather, more studying. Honestly, as much as the future prospects of going into the medical field sounded tempting, it just wasn’t worth it in my books. And so that’s where you had me at. I, Jean Kirstein, was a proud undecided leaning towards being an art major. Anyway, with Marco going at it the way he was, I was sure he forgot to eat most days and sleep was definitely out of the picture, so I bought some pizza from the mess hall covered in veggies and meat so he’d get back the nutrients he lost in one form or another.

     Holding the warm pizza box in my right hand, I dug around for the spare key to his flat he kept buried in the dirt of the potted wisteria tree in the back garden. With a twist of my hand, I unlocked the cracking wooden door and nudged it open the rest of the way with a bump of my hips. I kick off my worn black-on-black converse sneakers to the side and place the key on the windowsill beside the shoe rack.

     “Marco!!” I called out, making my way past the immaculate living room, spare for the couch with a mound of unfolded laundry to the kitchenette placing the pizza down on the counter.

      “Hey, Marco! Get out here! I bought you some pizza which you better eat ‘cause you probably haven’t eaten a decent meal since I last saw you. Plus I spent good money on this thing with all the extra toppings just for you, man.”

     I reach into the dishwasher to grab two plates and opened up the fridge to look for some left over beer he might still have stashed away, but came out empty handed. There was a clear bottle filled with questionably coloured liquids however, but I didn’t want any part in finding out what exactly was in it. Luckily, he still had some ginger ale left, so I went with that instead.

     The table had been moderately set up but I still hadn’t heard a peep from Marco. I wipe away the coldness from the can on my black skinny jeans and make my way over to his closed bedroom.

     “C’mon man, I’m starving, you’re definitely starving, let’s eat before the pie gets cold.”

     There was still no answer from beyond the door, so knock three short raps with my knuckles. And again, no answer.

     “Dude, you still alive?” Silence permeated throughout the small flat.

     “Marco Bodt, if I find you dead from over-studying , I swear to God I will—”

     I barged open the door and froze under the doorway, my eyes wide and legs unmoving. The walls were covered in yellow post-its, some having small black writing scribbled on them while the small study table was covered in textbooks and papers, and whatever couldn’t fit overflowed to the hardwood floors beneath it. The thin black lamp on the bedside table was still on with the neon green alarm clock beside it also covered in post-its. The leftover cans of beer that I had searched for earlier were found strewn across the back of the room, a dent on the wall indicating that it was thrown across the room. But what had shocked me still was the sight of him lying in bed with a calm enveloping his features that would overpower even a storm in an instant. It was the kind that softened his expression, the freckles dotting his face prominently and finally dispersing the crease between his brows that even the wave of unconsciousness that overcame him during the holidays couldn’t remove.

     But it was also this eerie calm that broke me out of the trance. I spun around, grabbing for the door knob before slamming it shut behind me. I leaned against the door, the sound of my heart hammering underneath my rib cage drowning out every thought that came to mind. I didn’t even realize what I had just done, instincts acting out before my brain could catch up. It just felt like I was intruding, walked in something private, sacred almost. And then my brain did catch up.

     In the short moment my gaze fell onto him, I noticed his body was too still. There seemed to be no rise and fall of his chest, no twitches or fluttering of his eyelids to indicate that he was merely asleep. My mind was racing, chest thudding louder and louder with each passing moment. Hands trembling, I gripped the knob tightly and slowly opened the door again, the rusted hinges creaking. Basked in the lamp light, his cheeks had hollowed and complexion sallow.

     I took a tentative step toward him, a scream somewhere in the back of my mind, afraid of what I already know. But I hoped. I dreaded this hope that told me that it was just extreme fatigue that overcame his body, that his body would still be warm to the touch, that his eyes would flutter open when I shake him from his sleep. But he wasn’t breathing.

     It was then that my eyes fell upon the small orange bottle hidden beneath the yellow papers and inadvertently, the scribbles on some of the post-its.

It’s useless.

I’m useless.

I have to do it.

No I can still stop.

I can’t.

Pathetic.

Don’t look at me.

Stop.

I’m scared.

I don’t want this.

Jean.

Help me.

Jean.

Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean. Jean.

     I ripped my eyes away, the blood draining from my face and adding onto the heavy beating of my heart.

     Suddenly, it hits me. Like a wave crashing onto the shores, I see red. Why? How could he do this to himself? To me? He was obviously struggling with himself, so why didn’t he come to me? Why didn’t he tell me anything? He’s helped me out on countless occasions, whether it was listening to my rants on my stupid professors, or my whining of the numerous failed attempts to ask out the hottest girl on campus, Mikasa Ackerman, or the countless drunken bar fight I got into with her adoptive brother, Eren Jaeger…So yah, I’m stubborn and hot-headed at times, but I could have at least listened to any worries he might’ve had. And seeing the walls covered in them, he had a whole damn lot to let off his chest. Didn’t he trust me? I mean, we’re best friends…were best friends…weren’t we? Then was this friendship just a one-sided misunderstanding on my part? Have I been just annoying him by coming over all the damn time, dragging him around with me to parties he most likely didn’t want to go to? And all these years I’ve known him, he’s just been putting up with it? Even so…how could you leave me like this?

     The sudden bout of anger slowly subsided, the sheer amount of questions forever going unanswered made its way to my head in the form of a pounding headache. My body, tired from the mental rampage, slumped down onto the floor next to him.

     No…no that wasn’t right. Marco would never in his life think of anyone as annoying or troublesome. He was one of the kindest people among out group of friends, going out of his way to help most of the times. And even if he hadn’t considered me a friend, I did. He was my best friend. I should have looked out form him just as he looked out for me. I should’ve picked up on the way he acted differently, how he made more excuses that he was just tired or avoided hanging out because of studies. Even with finals looming over us, it was in three weeks, more than enough time to spread out study periods. I should have been more forceful with him, dragging him with me if I had to. I should have noticed the way he slouched over himself, shoulders slumping and grey bags getting more prominent under his eyes, more so than the usual lifelessness finals week brings. So why didn’t I notice anything?

     Because I’m a coward. A miserable and pathetic coward that couldn’t think of anyone else but himself. So I ran. Ran from him like I ran from all my other problems. Ran from my parents who choked me from the inside out with their expectations. Ran from my friends when they became overbearing. Ran from the feelings I shouldn’t be feeling for him. He told me “I’ll love you enough for the both of us.” But I was in a dark place then, when I wasn’t capable of loving anything else, let alone myself. And as much as I wanted it to be true, he was my best friend. He trusted me. And I couldn’t bring myself to in fear of rejection. In fear of losing my best friend. So I tried put up a barrier around it to stop it from spreading like a disease. But as I tried to push those feeling further into oblivion, I unconsciously pushed the barrier wider, pushing myself away from my friends, from Marco, even further.

     Pathetic. Useless. I always realized too late. Too late in realizing that my parents only wished the best for me. Too late in realizing that my friends don’t give a shit in what I believe or do, because that’s what friends do. And this time, I was too late in realizing Marco’s pain. And now he’s gone. I can’t do anything right. Never have in my 22 years have I done a single thing right. But this time, I screwed to bad. You weren’t the one that left me. I left you. I left you feeling alone even when I was right there beside you. I left you feeling helpless when you had me. I’m so sorry, Marco. I’m sorry I let you feel helpless. I’m sorry I let you feel scared. I’m sorry I let you feel alone. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me most. I’m sorry I let you come to this decision. I’m sorry I took all the love from you. You kept giving and give and giving, and soon your love ran out that you couldn’t love yourself. But for once in my life, I’m going to make things right. And I’ll start and end it with you, Marco.

     I heave myself off from the floor and bend down to gently tuck my hand under his neck and knees. I lift his cold body up in my arms, the chill sending shivers down my spine. I carry him out to towards the bathroom, where I place him in the small white tub with the water running hot. I head back to the kitchen, where the pizza lay cold, forgotten on the counter, as I reach into the wooden drawer for a certain black handle.

     Once back in the bathroom, I place my pack of Marlboros from my pocket to the small table beside the tub, and step in to take my place behind him. I nestle my chin on top of his head, smoothing out his bangs from his eyes and reach over to light one in the water. Watching the smoke swirl up from the end, I hold the black handle steady in my right hand, gazing at the cold metallic blade, and swiftly bring it down to breach the skin on my left forearm. I take in a sharp breath as the skin split and warm redness dribbles down heavily to mix beautifully in the now overflowing water. I switch to do the same to the opposite hand and let the metal clank echo around me as I drop it to the tiled floor.

     Soon the clear water turns a light shade of pink and let my head fall back to rest on the edge of the tub. All emotion seems to leave my body as hot tears stream down my cheeks. So whether they were from sadness or relief I don’t know. But I know that I’m not alone. And Marco’s not alone. Because we found our place in each other.


End file.
